


damos: Fic: Promises, Promises (B7)

by damos



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-28
Updated: 2009-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:58:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damos/pseuds/damos





	damos: Fic: Promises, Promises (B7)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[b7](http://damos.livejournal.com/tag/b7), [fic](http://damos.livejournal.com/tag/fic)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Fic: Promises, Promises (B7)** _

Promises, promises

  
By the time the news officially reached Vila, he was quite drunk. 15 years of being a rebel were finally at an end. To be sure, he couldn't go back to thievery, but there had to be some fun legal ways to make money, didn't there?

Suddenly saddened, he raised his glass into the air. "For you, Gan. Maybe now people will remember your name." Another drink for Cally. Then one for Jenna. Finally to Blake and Dayna. "A pity you weren't shot by the troopers like the rest of us. I wish you two had the chance to get to know each other."

He sighed. How many years since Hunda and his group had freed them? Their returned "favor" to Tarrant and Dayna got them so much more. Avon's new plan was so simple even Vila had understood it.

The Federation was weakened by the Andromedan war. It was grasping for resources to rebuild its military. But it was relying too heavily on pacification drugs. Sure, they kept the population under control, allowing troops to be devoted elsewhere, but they also meant fewer new recruits for the army and a false sense of security for Space Command.

Just 30 rebels moving around on hopped up space choppers could travel from one planet to the next, spreading chaos, seeming to be thousands of rebels on dozens of worlds. They dragged Federation troops back and forth across the galaxy to fight revolutions that vanished just before they arrived.

The bounty offered to the Space Rats for destruction of troop transports was as brilliant as it was cruel. Finally, the Federation ran itself into the ground. No credits to pay the troops, no resources to make more drugs, no ships, no allies. In the end, the Federation held only Earth. They sued for peace, but Avon was insistent and held all the cards. The surrender of Earth had been a foregone conclusion, but it had also been the centerpiece of Avon's plan from the beginning.

Of course, the first few years had been tough. Someone had to hold even this small group together. Vila had to admit it, somehow Avon had turned into a good people person after. . . But then, he had changed in many ways. He joked with the Space Rats, talked strategy with Hunda's youngest troops. He became a strategist and a, well, a leader. He didn't talk much with the rest of the survivors after that day, though. Perhaps the weight of the secret pulled them all apart.

Which made his appearance in Vila's doorway that much more surprising. "Shouldn't you be off celebrating somewhere? Making plans for the future?"

"Get your things together, Vila. We leave in an hour."

Vila grinned at Avon. "You know of a good party?"

"No, Vila. Pay attention. Get your *tools* together. We don't have much time."

Vila thought about protesting, but he knew better than to try and sweet talk Avon when he was in this sort of mood. He seemed, well, he seemed like the old Avon. Vila thought about it for a moment. Perhaps we just fall into habits of behaving with each other, even after all these years. Then again, perhaps there were some prisoners that needed springing or something. He gathered his tools and was ready (somewhat more sober, as well) in about fifteen minutes.

Avon was waiting at the docks. He looked at Vila calmly. "You're early."

Vila smiled. "Didn't ever have much. What are we doing? Who else is going?"

"Just get in. The sooner we go the better."

They flew in a cramped, two seater chopper for several hours. Eventually, Vila nerved himself up to try to start the conversation again. "Where are we going?"

"A place with a lock I need you to open."

Vila sighed. There was no point in trying to bridge the distance of the last years, but there was at least professional pride at stake. "It helps if I know whose lock it is."

"Servalan. Sleer. Whichever you choose."

"And. . . What did she lock away?"

"Something I want."

And, apparently, something quite close. Avon slowed the craft down and then came to a complete stop. After a short search, they docked at a small space station, painted matte black.

"She sure did know how to hide things, didn't she?"

Avon didn't answer. Instead he pointed at the series of locks on the outer hatch.

After three or four hours of working, Vila got them inside. "Fine workmanship on them locks. She paid a pretty penny to whoever did that work."

Avon brushed past Vila and walked to the center of a row of vaults. "This one, Vila."

Vila whistled. "There must be millions, maybe billions of credits in this place."

"Open this one for me Vila, and you can have the contents of any one of the others for your very own. Just hurry."

Vila had it open in minutes. The vault contained a plain, small, wooden box and nothing else. "What's in it, Avon?"

Avon took the box, but did not answer.

Vila picked a small vault in the corner for himself. "Always hide the valuable stuff in a corner, I say. People always go for the ones in the center, like you did." He was pleasantly surprised to find a cache of jewels. "Guess I won't need to find work, after all."

"No, Vila. Neither of us will."

They left the station after marking it with a beacon and alerting Hunda of its existence. "Whatever new government gets formed will need that," Avon said.

"We could vanish with it."

"No, Vila. We can't vanish anymore. Not you and certainly not me. I would have vanished years ago, if I could have."

Vila tilted his head and looked at Avon. He thought about asking what he meant, but didn't really feel up to more conversation with Avon. With Avon--with his Avon, at any rate--information was rarely given. He smiled to himself. "Now I understand. He wanted me to feel comfortable." Vila looked briefly at Avon, admiring the effort he must have put into playing his old self just to make Vila feel at home.

A few more hours of silent traveling brought a familiar planet in sight. Earth. Vila gasped slightly. He was always surprised how comforting the sight of it was to him.

They landed in a clearing far away from the nearest dome. There was a small hole that someone had dug next to the landing site. Avon tossed Vila a shovel. Into the hole he placed a golden urn. "Fill it in, Vila. Then put this plaque on the ground above it."

"Wait a minute. I'm not here for phsyical. . ."

"Just do it."

Avon wandered off with a shovel of his own, still holding the wooden box. He walked to the base of a tree and started digging. Vila stopped watching Avon and did as he had been ordered. As he placed the plaque onto the earth above the hole, he read the words on it: "Here lies Roj Blake. Rebel, hero, friend." Vila started to shake. "Bastard." He called out to Avon. "You could have told me what we were doing."

Avon was kneeling in front of the tree. He didn't respond, so Vila walked over to him. "Avon?" Still no response.

As he drew closer, Vila could hear Avon faintly muttering. ". . . these years . . . everything you would . . . tired . . . won your . . . here." Avon paused, reaching out a hand to touch the overturned earth. "Please." He grew silent again. His shoulders slumped. With a long, slow inhalation, he stood up and turned to his companion.

"He lied, Vila."

"Pardon?"

"I got him here. I brought him to Earth like I said I would. But. . ." Avon reached out a hand and placed it on Vila's shoulder.

Vila stood motionless, searching for something to say. "You have my vote now, Avon. The Liberator would be yours."

"Yes." Avon wiped his face. He looked back at the tree. "And I can run just as far as she can take me now."

*****

The two silent hours they spent together in the bike were the last he ever saw of Avon. Oh, of course he saw Avon the politician, Avon the statesman, Avon the peacemaker. But he never saw his Avon again.


End file.
